Deliver Us From Evil
by Siobhan1
Summary: After Rafe was shot down, his journey to get back home was perilous. This is the story of his travels with the French Resistance through Occupied France, Andorra, Spain, and Portugal.


This story was inspired by the book 'Under a War Torn Sky' by L.M. Elliot. I don't speak French, but I'm learning Spanish so if some of the things in here don't translate correctly don't get mad at me. Get mad at www.babelfish.org. I only own the unfamiliar people. Things in '' are thoughts. I can't get the italics to work.  
  
  
  
"Red two you've got fighters all over your tail!" Rafe heard through the headphones. The leader of his squadron had been yelling for him to get out of there somehow for the past few minutes. Rafe was having a problem shaking them off while the others were having an equally tough time shooting them down. Rafe knew that this was probably the beginning of the end and was resorting to prayer.  
  
"God, please don't let me die." Rafe whispered. Right after he finished that he was hit.  
  
"Mayday, mayday!" Rafe shouted into his intercom system. Then as he was banging on his controls oil spurted into his face. Rafe put his hands up to his head and pulled down his goggles over his eyes.  
  
"Get this damn thing!" Rafe cried in frustration trying to break the glass. At the moment the only thing he could think of was grab his parachute and bail out. That wasn't working. Rafe grabbed his gun and shot two holes through the glass surrounding the cockpit. He dropped the gun and punched even bigger holes through the glass.  
  
"Oh my God." Rafe breathed as he realized he was seconds away from hitting the water. He began bracing himself trying to remember what he had learned in training about how to survive in situations like this. His thoughts were cut short as he took a deep breath and held it as he finally crashed into the channel.  
  
His parachute opened in the struggle to get out of the plane. The pull cord got stuck on some of the controls. Rafe got the parachute off and quickly swam up to the surface. Gasping for air he treaded water as he looked around him. Rafe could not see land in any direction. 'I'm a dead man.' He thought to himself.  
  
Rafe looked ahead of him and saw the wing of his plane floating. He swam over to it and carefully eased his weight onto the wing, grateful that it didn't sink under him, Rafe curled up into a ball in an effort to keep warm and to avoid hypothermia. He zipped his jacket up as far as it would go and pulled Evelyn's scarf tighter around his neck. 'Evelyn,' He thought, 'I'm sorry I left you.' Those were the last thoughts Rafe had as he drifted into a deep sleep.  
  
Rafe was back at his family's farm in Shelby going out to the barn to repair the crop duster. Suddenly he heard the air raid sirens go off not that far in the distance. Rafe looked up in surprise that air raid sirens would ever go off in Tennessee and he saw planes heading towards him on the horizon. Even from a distance Rafe could tell that they were Germans. Rafe ran around from the front of the plane and jumped inside it and started the crop duster. He had already taken off when he realized that this was a crop duster, not a fighter. He had no ammunition or any means of defending himself. "Rafe McCawley, you are a moron!" he yelled as he began dodging bullets. He heard a noise behind him and looked back to see that tail of the crop duster on fire. Rafe knew he was going down. He attempted to keep the plane steady as he got closer to the earth but the controls were useless by that time. The crop duster hit the ground. The impact had thrown Rafe from it and he was lying feet away from the flaming plane. Rafe could barely move his neck pain surged up and down his arm. Rafe heard someone run up to him. He moved his head slowly and looked up into Evelyn's face. Evelyn was talking to him in some language Rafe couldn't understand. He looked at her for several seconds until she realized she was speaking in French. But why? Evelyn never told him she could speak French.  
  
Rafe's eyes snapped open for a second and he found himself being hoisted up onto the deck of a ship. He muttered something the fishermen could not understand. "Evelyn." Rafe said before he blacked out.  
  
When Rafe came to again he was lying on the deck of a boat. He looked around him and determined that the Nazi's had not captured him. 'Thank God.' Rafe thought. No one seemed to realize that was awake and fully aware of his surroundings. He saw a gruff looking man with glasses walk past him to another man in hearing distance of Rafe.  
  
"Pierre, qu'allons-nous faire avec ce pilote?" The man said to another fisherman whose back was turned to Rafe. 'Pilot,' he thought, 'they're talking about me.'  
  
Rafe studied the man who was facing him. To Rafe he looked very French. Dark hair, tan skin and glasses. 'Where's the beret?' Rafe smiled to himself. 'Danny would have laughed if I told him that.' Rafe's face fell. 'Danny.'  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when the man Rafe assumed was named Pierre spoke." Je devine nous pourrions l'apporter à la marquis." Rafe heard the man say.  
  
'Why did I take Spanish in high school?' Rafe thought, regretting the fact that unless one of the men on the boat could speak English he was in deep trouble.  
  
"Quand atteindrons-nous les bassins?"  
  
"Dans trente minutes."  
  
"Comment cacherons-nous le pilote?"  
  
"Le recevoir de son uniforme. Si n'importe qui voit un pilote Britannique, 'They think I'm a Brit!', nous recevrons attrapé et fera si la résistance . Nous aurons besoin d'agir rapidement. Jacques, vous parlez anglais. 'Hold on! He speaks English?!' Je fie vous expliquer notre situation à lui et découvre qu'il est. Le dire nous sommes des amis et nous le placerons directement dans les mains de la Résistance française." With that Pierre patted Jacques on the shoulder and walked away. When Rafe saw Jaques looking his way he quickly shut his eyes.  
  
"Wake up!" Rafe heard Agues saying as he was shook.  
  
"What do you want?" Rafe answered pretending he was asleep.  
  
"My name is Jacques. We are very close to our dock and will need to get you out of your uniform so no one will recognize you. Some of my friends are in the marquis; the French Resistance. They will help you get back to Britain. We must act quickly, we do not have much time." Rafe sat there stunned at this man's fluency in English. He said the first thing that came to him.  
  
"Okay." 'Real intelligent there McCawley.'  
  
"Follow me. My brother has offered to give you some of his clothes. We will have to blacken your hair so you look French."  
  
"Blacken my hair with what?" Rafe questioned as he followed Jacques to his brother's quarters.  
  
"With soot."  
  
"Soot?"  
  
"Yes, soot. What else would we use? You don't sound very British."  
  
"That's because I'm not." Rafe answered. 'Damn! Do not let them know any more personal information!'  
  
"Well, then what are you? You are surely not Irish or Scottish." Jacques said pulling out a sweater and pants from a drawer.  
  
"I'm an American." Rafe answered. Jacques turned in surprise.  
  
"You are?"  
  
"Yes, I was flying with the Eagle Squadron, an outfit the R.A.F. started up so American pilots could help the Brits." 'What did I tell ya? No more blurting things out!'  
  
"That explains it. Where in America are you from?"  
  
"Tennessee. It's in the south."  
  
"Oh. Here put these on. You have to get rid of your boots. They will identify you as a soldier right away." Rafe's face fell. He was going to have to leave his fleece-lined boots for some old thin ones. 'If this is what it takes.' Rafe thought as he sighed. Jacques left to go find the soot for Rafe's hair.  
  
"What have I gotten myself into?" Rafe asked himself as he pulled the scratchy sweater over his head and tucked Evelyn's scarf safely around his neck underneath the sweater.  
  
Five minutes later Rafe emerged from the cabin. He had left his heavy long underwear on underneath the sweater and pants but the wind still went straight through the layers and to his bones. 'It's cold here. So cold it goes to your bones.' Rafe felt a pang of sadness go through his body. In one of his last letters to Evelyn he had penned those exact words. 'There's one place I go to find warmth and that is to think of you.' Rafe recalled the next line he had written as he wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye before it had managed to escape.  
  
Jacques interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"Here. Put this on you hair then put a hat on over it. When we dock do not talk to anyone. If anyone approaches you just say this, Je suis désolé mais je suis dans une hâte. It means I am sorry but I am in a hurry. Then walk away. The agent from the resistance that has been sent to get you will stop you when you say that. Remember it. Je suis désolé mais je suis dans une hâte."  
  
"Thank you Jacques. Thanks for everything."  
  
"You're welcome pilot. You never told me your name."  
  
"It's Rafe, Rafe McCawley." Rafe said and took Jaques hand to shake it.  
  
"Your welcome Mr. -"  
  
"Lieutenant."  
  
"Lieutenant McCawley. I wish you luck."  
  
"Jacques if you're ever in Shelby Tennessee look me up."  
  
"I will do that sir. Au revoir"  
  
"See ya later." Rafe said in English as Jacques walked away and the boat gently hit the pier. Rafe wiped his sooty hands on his pants and shoved his hat on his head.  
  
"Oh my God." He whispered when he saw the large number of people standing on the pier of what looked to be in the center of a small fishing town.  
  
'Dear God, help me!' Rafe thought.  
  
"Je suis désolé mais je suis dans une hâte. Je suis désolé mais je suis dans une hâte." Rafe repeated to himself committing it to memory.  
  
"Well. . . here goes." Rafe said under his breath as he stepped of the boat and onto the pier. Right into the unknown.  
  
"Our Father, who art in heaven. . ." Rafe began to pray. 


End file.
